Asleep
by notyourdaughter
Summary: "Don't feel bad for me, I want you to know...that deep in the cell of my heart, I'll be so glad to go."  TatexViolet.
1. Chapter 1

Violet got up from her place on the stairs and looked out the window for the fifth time in 30 minutes. She stood looking out at a couple walking a Pomeranian lethargically before she turned back to her perch and continued picking at lint on her outdated sweater. This had become the routine as of late, sitting in nostalgia, wandering over to peer into the outside world. A world she would never belong to again.

Violet had resided as a spirit in the Murder House for 3 ½ years now, and her existence was beginning to grow tiresome. Even a ghost, she had no energy, no emotion, preferring to watch her parents coo over the eternal infant from a distance. It had been months since she'd had any real contact with anyone, living or not. Not that she cared to make conversation with people she wouldn't mind causing bodily harm. The only person on her mind these days was one who was least welcome there. He snuck into her thoughts while she day dreamed, edging his way into the thoughts of falling leaves and record stores. Blonde curls and smug grins violated her mind, and she pushed the thoughts as far back in her hypothetical brain cabinet as was possible. She wouldn't speak his name, wouldn't even think it, instead slapping the label of _'him'_ onto the matching face.

Violet let a sigh through her lips and stood, ascending the stairs slowly, staring at her feet as they landed on each step. How much longer could she go on like this? If it wasn't for the whole being a ghost thing, she would've done herself in long ago. "Been there, done that", she thought with an inner chuckle. Her hand came to rest against the door to what used to be her room. Although it was now fairly vacant, (save for the same iron bed frame and mattress, and a bookshelf with a few forgotten classics laying dust covered on it) she still felt as though it belonged to her. The same Marlboro and Pledge smell wafted through the air, and she inhaled before flopping heavily down on the sheet-less bed. Could she feel any more like a cheap cliché? Mourning over her lost lover like a fucking Twilight novel? She tried to tell herself she was better than this, but deep down she knew that she wasn't. She was still the same whiny little brat that shoved her face full of pills because she couldn't deal with it all. After preaching to her parents about taking responsibility and facing life, she downed 20 Klonopin and woke up fucking Casper the angsty ghost. Oh, the pure hypocrisy of it all.

It was all enough to make her snap, and before she could think twice about it, she pulled the rusty pocket knife she snatched from Travis, and drug the blade across her pale throat.


	2. Chapter 2

Tate leaned against the wall of the dank basement, the mildew infested cellar becoming his home since his world had collapsed in the worst kind of way. Violet's downward spiral had not gone unnoticed by him. The urge to run to her was getting harder and harder to ignore, especially when he saw her take a jackknife to her throat. He could've sworn she'd just done the same to him, the pain ripping through him as if they were the same person.

Tate stayed away from her, though. He did exactly as he was told and opted for watching her stare out the windows in longing. The ache he felt in his core was unbearable, indescribable. Catching her scent in the hallway, watching her strip before she climbed into the shower, he was no better than a stalker, a sick voyeur. His self loathing was forgotten, though, when he willed himself back into the basement and began working his own arousal, like he did every time he watched her. The images of their previous lovemaking flashed through his mind, baby smooth skin writhing underneath him, naïve lips battling against his own. It was too much when the memory of Violet screaming his name in orgasm was thought of, and he released into his hand. He had never felt so pathetic. "When are you getting your balls out of her pocket?" Hayden would say as she came to him in the basement, looking for someone new to lay down for. "Still saving your virtue for Wednesday Addams?"

Tate slumped against the wall, not even bothering to zip himself back up. He was so tired of being in pain. He'd done his best to avoid hurting a soul since Violet sent him away, he'd be damned if he let her down. Tears streaked his face like they did every single day as he returned his limp organ back to his jeans and crawled over to the far corner of the basement where he kept a plain composition notebook and a black sharpie. He gathered his knees to his chest and began scribbling hastily into said notebook, ignoring the smudges his child-like crying was causing.

"If I could take it all back, I swear that I would

I'll leave you alone now, I promise for good

And you can forget me

I won't say a word

Your slumber, my love, no longer disturbed

But I can assure, even when I depart

The love that I have for you, stays etched on my heart"

Tate reread his work. "I could've made a decent musician if I hadn't shot a bunch of people and then died", he said to himself.

Having gotten the better part of his angst out, he had nothing left on his agenda except sitting miserably in the basement fantasizing about Violet.

He had no idea what even came over him when he abruptly stood and started to climb the stairs, his legs and brain not quite working on the same wave-length. Before he could make himself slow down, he was standing in front of a door in the upstairs hallway. It took no time before he finally realized it wasn't just any door, it was _her _door. He stroked the wood with the back of his hand, feeling as creepy as ever but not caring as he turned the handle without thinking. His heart stopped for a moment before he realized it was empty. He hesitated, the smell of the girl who had stolen his heart and ripped it out just the same overtaking him and making him light-headed. Tate took the few steps over to the bed that belonged to her and stared down at the indentation her body had left on the mattress, stroking his fingers over where her head rested at night.

The lead in his stomach grew heavier, and for the second time that day, tears spilled hot over his eyes. His thoughts didn't even taunt him about what a pussy he was this time, his brain too fuzzy. His mind was overflowing with garbled images of Violet and he on the beach, Violet smiling up at him as he handed her that spray-painted rose. _Violet, Violet, Violet_. The sobs racked through his lean frame as he ripped a page out of his notebook, the verses he had written downstairs on it. He lay the page on the bed and disappeared back into the basement to waste away in his personal hell, Violet's angel's face never leaving his mind as he collapsed onto the floor and the room became dark around him.


End file.
